


Kintsugi

by MadameMontgomery



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #ItsStillBeautiful, Angst, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 10:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7753750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameMontgomery/pseuds/MadameMontgomery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They stayed there for some time, sipping their coffee, feeling time slip past them like it usually did. He could almost imagine Will’s stream, cool and nipping at his ankles. He dug his toes into the carpet, wishing he could send the tension down and out and away.</i>
</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Hannibal and Will have a much needed conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kintsugi

**Author's Note:**

> As much as I love strong, powerful Hannibal who compares himself to God, I also love fractured Hannibal who knows he's only human and suffers for it. 
> 
> Also fun writing BTS: I spent half an hour looking through the scripts to see whether Hannibal was more likely to say "a lot" or "very much." I made police siren noises the entire time I did it. I apologize to my new neighbors. 
> 
> This was written for the [Hannibal Cre-ate-ive's](http://hannibalcreative.tumblr.com/) _It's Still Beautiful Challenge._
> 
> I own nothing but my mistakes!

Hannibal prided himself on control. Which made days like this so very trying.

He had been sitting in their living room since 4:00 that morning. He slept little but found ways to occupy his time, whether it be a book Will had recommended or creating a new recipe or just sketching shapes and shadows onto paper. But today he found himself stretched at the seams. His jaw clenched, body stiff with a tension that ached deep within his muscles.

It drove him from his room, too conscious of Will’s light slumber next door to pace around like he wanted. Fingers ran gently over the walls, wanting nothing more than to claw and tear and rip apart. To exorcise this _thing_ the only way he knew how. 

But he didn’t. Will had been teaching him about alternative means of influence, something of words and warmth rather than a bloody maw. Sometimes something inside Hannibal rebelled at the softness, the thing that knew showing one’s belly was only an opening for a blade (this knowledge Hannibal knew all too well), but then he would think of Will’s face, edges blurred in the evening light, smiling shyly at him over a book, and the thing would quiet. 

_Remarkable boy_. 

He rolled his shoulders, uncomfortably tight already, and made himself a cup of coffee before moving into the living room. 

He looked out the window. He drank. It tasted like nothing. He looked out the window.

Time ran through him, every tick of the second hand felt in his knuckles and gritted teeth, the sky painting itself lighter with every revolution. It was beautiful. It was agonizing. 

Hannibal was watching the purple edges fade into the western horizon when Will finally stumbled into the living room. From his peripherals, he watched Will tense as he noticed him, all lingering traces of sleep gone. 

“Hannibal?” he said. Cautious. If Hannibal could ache any more, he would.

“Good morning, Will.”

A pause. “You’re usually not up this early. Is everything alright?”

“On the contrary, my dear, I’m usually up earlier than you,” Hannibal said.

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m fine, Will. Just a bit,” he searched for a word, “restless.” 

He took a sip of the coffee. It was cold. And still tasteless.

Will was still staring at him, and he kept staring as he moved to sit beside Hannibal on their loveseat. Hannibal watched the purple melt into pink. 

With slow, soft hands, Will took Hannibal’s mug from him and sipped. He recoiled, wide eyes dropping to the drink. “Jesus, Hannibal, this is freezing. How long have you been sitting out here?” He smacked his lips in distaste and, after a moment, took another sip. “Even when your coffee is cold as fuck, it’s still better than anything I could have made.”

“Is it?” Hannibal answered mildly, more statement than anything.

That brought Will’s eyes back up to him. He was radiating concern, and Hannibal was drowning in it. The silence stretched. 

“Well,” Will said finally, slapping his free hand on his knee for emphasis, “I’m going to make some normal people coffee, and then we’re going to sit here and drink it until you talk about what’s got you all…unbalanced today.” With that, he walked off to the kitchen, taking Hannibal’s mug with him. Hannibal didn’t even glance at him. He didn’t think he could. 

The pink was fading into pale blue by the time Will returned, two steaming cups in hand. Hannibal noticed his mug was different but didn’t comment. He took a sip when Will did. Still tasteless, but the warmth was an improvement. 

“Well?”

“It tastes good.”

“ _Hannibal_.” 

Reluctantly, he turned towards Will, the soft pleading more effective than a sharp tone wielding sharper words. Anger he could fight. Hurt he could bear. This was something else.

Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to push.

He watched Will realize this, understanding a flicker in those lovely eyes, then turned back to the window. Another sip in lieu of an actual answer. 

“You can talk to me, you know. I know it wasn’t always,” Will gestured between the two of them, “like _this_ , but we’ve always been able to do that. Talk to each other. Even if it was just in endless circles.”

“I know,” Hannibal said, quieter this time.

Will nodded, whether it was to Hannibal or himself, Hannibal wasn’t sure, then also turned to look out their window. They stayed there for some time, sipping their coffee, feeling time slip past them like it usually did. He could almost imagine Will’s stream, cool and nipping at his ankles. He dug his toes into the carpet, wishing he could send the tension down and out and away.

“Do you remember what today is?” Will’s voice was almost a whisper. Careful. Reverent. “It’s been a year.”

Hannibal’s jaw twitched. Fingers flexed before remembering this was one of Will’s favorite mugs and relaxed. He swallowed. 

“You still have dreams.” It wasn’t a question.

Will blinked. “I—yes.”

“Tell me about them,” Hannibal said.

He didn’t look at Will. Will didn’t look at him. It was somehow both comforting and wrong. 

“I used to dream a lot more. Especially after…” another vague gesture, “you left. You’d been in my dreams before, that wasn’t new, but they had shifted. Like you had reached inside and scrambled everything up. Everything had changed.”

Will took another sip. Hannibal balled up a hand into a fist to stop it from shaking. They watched the sky.

“It was violent. But it was and it wasn’t. Every night in the hospital it was you holding me, one hand on my chin to make sure I didn’t miss the other pulling my stitches out,” Hannibal glanced over at Will’s bittersweet smile, “It was rather unnecessary. I don’t think I could have looked away.”

“Though my own definition is hardly as…clean-cut as yours, that sounds very much like violence to me, Will.” Will’s eyes flicked to his. Hannibal allowed the contact when his smile melted into something softer. 

_Always softer. Soft enough to sink into and drown. Always drowning._

“Like I said, it was and it wasn’t. The action was, sure, but the feeling behind it? That was tenderness. Intimacy. It felt like pouring out. Like wine spilt in a church. I was golden there. I’d wake up hard and be pissed at you for the rest of the day,” Will chuckled to himself, “but that was then.”

“And now?” Hannibal choked out.

“Not so many dreams now. My mind’s either quieted down or I just have more control over it. Either way, I’m happy about it. Or it could be you. You’d get a kick out of that. That you were the only one who could set my brain on fire then put it out.”

“Will—”

“I said I’m happy, Hannibal.” Will turned to him on the couch, all heady attention and gentle words. “Is that what’s bothering you?”

“While I’m sure my subconscious is riddled with doubts about your intentions, it’s not about that,” he snapped, regret immediately following his words. 

He swallowed his frustration. It hurt like a swallowing around a blade. He tried again.

“Will, you must understand—I didn’t mean—it’s not anything you did, but I—”

“You sound a bit cliché.” Will’s smile was evident in his voice. “It’s okay. I don’t have anywhere else to be. Take your time.”

“I have,” he frowned, “days.”

“Days?”

“Yes.”

“Alright,” Will said.

“Alright?” Hannibal blinked.

“As a person who’s also had…days, I understand. Empathy disorder, remember?” he tapped a finger to his temple, “It’s my gimmick. That being said, I also understand the feeling of slippery words, meanings oil and liquid through your fingers. You don’t have to explain anything. Not if you don’t want to.”

“But I do,” Hannibal said quietly, “and that’s terrifying. I’ve never—”

Will waited. Hannibal had to look away.

“As a young man, I visited the Norman Chapel for the first time. It was a religious experience, truly. Beyond it being a house of God, I remember standing in the foyer and staring at that graven image in the floor. It was like staring into a mirror. To see oneself for the first time, Will, to see it reflected in another…” Hannibal’s voice wavered, “I’m sure you can understand.” 

“It was God carved onto that floor. The reminder that our life and death are held in the hands of another. Beautiful. Powerful. Eternal as the stone that shaped Him. Or so I thought. Once I was so naïve to think gods couldn’t be felled. That stone couldn’t crack,” Hannibal paused, “I have cracks, Will. And they can’t be fixed.” 

They sat in silence for a few moments, words littered around them, old wounds exposed to fresh air after so long. In that brief time, there was an infinite second where Hannibal wasn’t sure what Will would do. A familiar feeling that felt like a knife pressed to his neck. He held his breath.

Then Will shifted on the couch. He set his mug down on the coffee table in front of them and crowded in close to Hannibal’s back. Curled around him, he could feel Will press that brilliant, burning head against his spine. Gentle palms pressed flat against his ribs. He could hide his ragged exhale but knew Will would feel ever tremor in his body. 

_How does such violence create such love?_

“Cracks can be filled,” Will murmured, “repaired, and made stronger for it.”

Turned away from each other, twin tears ran twin cheeks. Just alike.

They spent the rest of the day like that, entangled, the light moving the shadows of their mugs around. Despite what Will had said, Hannibal knew this day wouldn’t be the last. Once again he would wake up tense and suffocating, more raw nerves than man. But it didn’t matter. That wasn’t the point.

When the last of the evening blue had faded into black, Hannibal turned and pressed his lips to Will’s. It was nothing more than a brush of skin. It was more than enough.

“You said you were golden in that dream of yours,” Hannibal whispered. “You should know that you are golden here. You burn so bright it can be difficult to see you sometimes.”

“But you do.”

“I do.”

Will only smiled and leaned in to kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! Kudos and comments are a writer's lifeblood!
> 
> Come say hi!
> 
> [stormygalahad.tumblr.com](http://stormygalahad.tumblr.com/)


End file.
